


Lucky

by jumpingjaxx13



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood, Gen, Kinda, Minor Character Death, Poisoning, Stabbing, Tumblr Prompt, Xenophobia, he died (almost)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpingjaxx13/pseuds/jumpingjaxx13
Summary: "isaakvkampfer: As the only Chiss in the military, Thrawn preserved his blood in case that he was hurt and in need of a blood transfusion. Someone found it and destroyed it in the name of anti-vampire rooted in xenophobia. Or worse, they messed the blood. Thrawn nearly died because of this."Xenotoxin-- a horrifying concoction used to incapacitate entire populations of non-human species. As the closest relative to humans, Thrawn wondered just how a chiss would react. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long to find out.





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this prompt on Tumblr and was like 'hey i can do this'  
> ....  
> I hope I did it right XD

Xenotoxin was, to be quite frank, one of the most unsettling concepts Thrawn had ever come across, its entire purpose being nothing more than to eradicate huge populations of non-human species. Each variation was specifically designed to target violent ailment in any host that harbored distinctly ‘alien’ genes. Every species impacted expressed intoxication in a different manner-- everything from molting to hallucinations to cysts to heart failure was fair game for the toxin, and nobody could determine the symptoms of the species until their lives were far too strung out to recover. There was no cure, simply because nobody bothered to research one. Why would the humans, who continued to dominate nearly every scientific field, sabotage their own ace weapon?

 

Upon learning of this awful thing, Thrawn couldn’t help how his skin crawled with grim curiosity. These sorts of biochemical weapons should be considered illegal on a galactic scale, but the Empire was infamous for convenient loopholes, which only served as another reason to shield Csilla from its wrath. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but wonder how they would react, seeing as Chiss were the closest human relative in existence. Would the differences be too minute to spur on such damage, or would their similar biologies only make them suffer worse? As much as he was intellectually intrigued, even a small scale test was too great a risk to take as the only chiss for ages. For this reason, Thrawn froze his blood. 

 

It wasn’t too much-- a few liters at most, nothing more than a precautionary measure. Especially once he started climbing the ranks like a ladder, the chances of him  _ actually _ suffering a mortal wound that would require a transfusion plummeted significantly. The less he was on the ground in the scorching heat of battle, the less exposure he had to immense injury; however, in the off chance that someone got their hands on the chiss Grand Admiral, keeping a store of blood was nothing less than logical. The odds of him never needing it were in his favor.

 

Couldn’t  _ The Odds _ be so fickle?

 

In the end, he couldn’t begin to explain how it happened-- how the rebels made it to their center of command, how they managed to surround his troops and draw them out, how many detonators blew, how long the battle lasted, or how many of his own men died. Hells, he could hardly comprehend the scenes flashing around him as he grappled to keep hold on reality in the face of bloody mutiny.

 

“ _ For the purity of the Empire!” _ the traitor cried, barely sparing the Grand Admiral a moment before the sharp, pointed tip of a blade pushed through every layer of his skin and dragged downward. A fiery pain flared in him with the epicenter in his chest as he felt every atom of skin tear apart. A gushing stain of read trailed the tear, continuing to heed the call of gravity even as the blade was removed. Thrawn dropped to his knees, wide-eyed and staring at his own chest as snow white silk became tainted by his own red essence. Hands shook as numb fingers hovered over the wound and pressed on either side as if that would somehow seal it. When he drew his hands away, they performed no magic save for collecting their own pool of blood. Had he not been of sharper mind, he could have easily hypnotized himself with its languid  _ drip, drip, drip _ down his fingers-- deep, warm crimson against a cool, blue canvas. In a fashion, this was an artistic way to die. 

 

Not that he had any intention of dying.

 

The rapid clack of escaping heels and the hiss of a closing door dragged him back to reality, rational thought struggling to break through the overwhelming cycle of numbness and white hot agony and plain  _ disgust _ . 

 

**_If you’re going to survive this, you need to think. The wound is on the front, so lay down on your back._ **

 

Gritting his teeth, Thrawn complied and eased himself down onto his back, head resting against the hard floor. Despite the ceiling being a pale beige in color, trickles of black began to bleed into his field of vision, suggesting an approaching loss of consciousness.  _ Not good. _

 

**_The alarm is under the desk. See if you can reach it._ **

 

Thrawn’s head lolled to the side, blinking rapidly to focus on the underside of his desk. On the edge was a prominent red button engraved into the metal. Teeth burrowed harshly into his lower lip until a flood of crimson iron poured into his mouth to complement the pool forming around his body. It took a great surge of effort to lift his arm from the ground, blurry vision making him grope slightly for the button. At its full extension, his fingertips barely brushed the plane of the button. 

 

**_Do it_ ** .

 

The muscles in Thrawn’s abdomen tensed, eliciting a strained groan as the movement prompted another agonizing gush of blood. The action was worth it, however, for it gave him that final centimeter of leverage to push the button to the base. His arm dropped to the ground with a thud, the sudden weakness propelled by blood loss draining his strength. A faint red glow emanated from the button, signaling its successful connection. Beneath layers of drowsiness and pain, relief prickled through him.

 

_ “Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir. Captain Pellaeon speaking. Do you require assistance?” _

 

Crimson eyes squeezed shut, a rattling exhale accenting his relief. Though his words came out with a gurgle of blood, he tried to relay as much information as possible-- the impending rebel attack, the anticipated plan of attack, the traitor, and  _ finally _ the wound.

 

“ _ Sir?!” _ Pellaeon exclaimed at the end of Thrawn’s explanation. “ _ You’re wounded? I’ll send up medical personnel immediately!” _

 

Thrawn coughed, a lightheadedness sponging over his thoughts and making the words feel heavy on his tongue. “Don’t lose sight of what’s important, Captain,” he insisted, voice slowing into a drawl. “The medical workers will take care of me. I want you to win this battle.”

 

_ “Of course, Grand Admiral. It will be done _ .”

 

With the reassurance of a competent officer heading the command, Thrawn released his resistance and allowed the darkness at the edge of his vision to overwhelm him and slip off into the deep, cold caress of wounded slumber.

* * *

**_Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip._ **

 

The medical droid lazed through rows of beds, unconscious patients scattered about. Heart monitors created a rhythm for the droid to follow, and a single  **_blip_ ** out of line alerted it to action. Order was everything, and everything was in order, from the color-coded sponges to the impossibly sterile countertops. Should any condition go awry, it would stand out against the monotonous  **_blips_ ** that the droid drowned in daily. 

 

**_Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip._ ** **_BEEEEEEEEEP_ ** .

 

Alarm pierced through the air like a thousand red lights, commanding the immediate attention of the medical droid. Its head turned and its body followed, rushing over to the pinpointed error. Being programmed to treat humans, the first ‘problem’ it encountered was that the troubled subject was blue from head to toe. His core temperature was significantly lower than average, but the metabolism was furthest from the problem once the droid followed the IV to the bag of blood and noticed a particulate collection at the bottom. 

 

Protocol whizzed through its circuits faster than light, a billion combinations of ailments and treatments running through qualifying scans. Connecting back to the system reminded it that this patient was, indeed,  _ not _ human, but a close relative-- Chiss-- and should be treated as human unless otherwise stated. While healthy, the blue man had been screened and his vitals recorded. His core temperature then had been significantly lower than that of a human, but now?

 

Now, the Chiss had a fever that would incapacitate any human. 

 

The thermal sensors blotted out any remnant of blue on the body and replaced it with a smear of violent red. His skin began to sport white blemishes, lips and eyelids appearing as if kissed by the snow of his birth. Upon closer examination, small tremors in the man’s muscles coincided with each anomaly in his heartbeat. 

 

**_Fever. Spotting. Irregular heartbeat. Coagulation of the blood._ **

 

The droid whizzes to Thrawn’s bedside to adjust the bag, shaking the particles up in the process before pulling a miniscule sample for testing. Closing the hole, the droid put the sample through rigorous chemical testing, identifying it to the atom. As the results came back, the droid paused, bordering on malfunction. Run the test again-- same result. Unable to find a satisfactory solution to the awful screeching, the droid lifted a comm to its synthetic mouth.

 

**_“_ ** _ Medical assistance requested immediately for the treatment of xenotoxin poisoning in Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” _

 

 

* * *

 

It had been years since Thrawn had dreamed-- at least, in the typical sense that involved characters and fantastical stories concocted by the irrational mind. Ever since he’s become the backbone of the Empire’s tactical prowess, his nights had been full of military maps and obsessively detailed analyses of artwork instead. Needless to say, when he found himself immersed in the blinding white of Csilla’s earth, he was rather surprised. 

 

What surprised him nearly as much was the cold. Despite being in a dream, goosebumps crawled over his skin with the unfamiliar sensation of  _ cold _ . Having grown up around the glacial elements,  _ coldness _ wasn’t something Thrawn was accustomed to, nor was it something he’d ever experienced. Was this the awful sensation that Vanto had so often complained of? While he’d never before understood how he could be so opposed to a crisp chill, he now realized the contrast between the comfort of Chiss cold and the frigidity of Human cold. 

 

_ Human cold _ .

 

Thrawn’s head snapped down to look at his shaking, upturned palms, and shuddered for another reason entirely. Where he usually sported an elegant blue hue was a numb white, pale to the point of translucidity. His fingers flexed, a frostbitten tingle burning his skin as he did so. 

 

_ Human cold. _

 

If he stayed out here in this fictional frost, he would die-- that much, he knew beyond a doubt. While fine weather for a chiss, the discoloration of his skin suggested that, at least for this dream, he was not. As if a beacon went off in his head, Thrawn turned toward a small protrusion in the distance and, with trembling limbs, hobbled through inches to snow to it. 

 

The protrusion, as it were, was a chiss-- female, based on the curves of her form, but undeniably strong. Her blue-black hair and the hands folded behind her back stood out against not only the white canvas of Csillan terrain, but her pristine white uniform as well. In the distance, a minute red haze on the ground reflected her gaze. As if to test the intricacy of this dream, Thrawn glanced to the ground, only to find that the untouched snow offered no reflection in return. 

 

_ “They are killing you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” _ Thrawn immediately looked back up. That voice… He’d recognize it no matter how long they’d been separated. From the way she held herself to how her voice rolled creamily over their native tongue, she couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else.

 

“...Admiral Ar’alani,” he mused, nodding respectfully. Ar’alani did not turn around to return the gesture-- a standoffish move, even for her. “I fear I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

 

“ _ This is no dream, Commander,”  _ she clarified, using his last rank known unto her as an address. “ _ What you see around you, you may not wake up from. You are not imagining yourself as a human. You’ve died of blood loss. They boiled you from the inside and left you to simmer here in this Hell.” _

 

Thrawn blinked, brow furrowing fractionally in disbelief.  _ Dead _ ? Impossible. While death itself had always been a recognized possibility, especially after the incident with the traitor that left him oozing his own life force, this talk of  _ boiling _ lost all credibility. Besides, if this truly was Hell, then that implied that Ar’alani…

 

“Forgive me for any insensitivity, but how did you die?” he pressed with an inquisitive tilt of the head. A sigh of resignation was the most immediate response, followed by the slow turn of his former superior. Charred, flaking flesh streaked across one side of her face, the burn following a straight path down her body to the tips of her boots. The pungent stench of burning fuel and flesh assaulted his nostrils as if her form currently festered before him. The part of her face that was still healthy pulled tight in a bitter smile. 

 

“ _ An engine malfunction, if you can believe it,” _ she stated, scanning over Thrawn with disguised scrutiny. “ _ After everything I’d done, a misbehaving fuse spelt the end of me. Unable to go out in a blaze of glory like you. Then again,”  _ she paused, the fleshy side of her lips pursing into a sad smirk. “ _ I should hardly consider being poisoned by your own men anything to pride yourself in.” _

 

Thrawn blinked.  _ Poisoned _ ..? Surely, he would have known if he had been poisoned. Unless…

 

“.......It was in my blood,” he realized, expression collapsing from one of contemplation to one of dismay. “At some point, someone tampered with the blood I stored. It couldn’t have been a contaminant they regularly test for, which, considering my rank, leaves few options.” As if he actually needed to ponder the weapon used against him.

 

At the very least, the mystery of a chiss’s reaction to xenotoxin had been resolved. 

 

Lips parted with the intention of saying as much, only to find that the air had been knocked from him in a flash of blinding heat. Words choked in his throat, a wheeze squeezing from his chest as that prickling cold vanished into an indescribable burn. His jaw hung slack, vision tainted white beyond the canvas of snow as he stared at Ar’alani, something akin to fear climbing over his skin. His  _ blue _ skin. 

 

Ar’alani’s face fell, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “ _ It seems you got lucky yet again, Commander. I should hope not to see you again until you find that blaze of glory you deserve.” _

 

A million questions rushed to the front of his head, each one burning as bright as the supernova which swallowed him-- as hot as the flame which reignited every frozen nerve. Blinding white absorbed his vision, the last smattering of blue lost to the colorless oblivion as he was dragged from Csilla’s so-called Hell.

* * *

 

 

“ _.....-ank the stars!” _

 

“ _ Yeah… I’m just glad it worked. I wonder why he didn’t store more blood?” _

 

_ “Probably didn’t think he needed to. Let his ego get in the way, I suppose.” _

 

_ “Him? Let ego get in the way of logic? You’ve obviously not spent much time with him.” _

 

_ “Can’t say I have. He’s not exactly our most frequent customer, if you know what I mean.” _

 

_ “Right.” _

 

_ “If you don’t mind me asking, Commander Vanto, how  _ **_did_ ** _ you get ahold of this?” _

 

_ “It was in storage. All of their military personnel keep blood stored in case of an emergency, and certainly more than just one bag. And if they die without using it, it gets sent to the transfusion bank.” _

 

_ “Don’t these guys have blood types? How’d you know it was the right one?” _

 

_ “................................Lucky guess.” _

 

The muscles in Thrawn’s face twitched, reintroducing him to the icy hot claws of life and their motions. All of the chatter which had reintroduced him to the world of the living faded into a pointed observation that was tangible against his skin. If they kept staring, a hole would be born through his cheek. Alongside the voices, the burning numbness of ice encompassed his body, prompting him to try and shift. The sounds which he’d so desperately wanted to cry out in death manifested themselves as a low, strained groan as red eyes forced themselves open.

 

Two men stood at the foot of his bed, identical sets of honey brown eyes dripping with concern as they stared into his very soul. One was a medic, judging by the trademark dress, and the other something as rare as a friend. Eli’s body was fitted in the familiar uniform of House Nuruodo, sparking an untimely sensation of proud kinship in the chiss. Not to say that he possessed doubts about Eli’s assimilation, but to have been embraced and promoted by his ruling house so quickly was more than what he could have asked. On his breast was the Ascendancy’s insignia of Commander-- something Thrawn himself had borne for years under the same leadership. Not only did he look dashing in uniform, but to know that he’d succeeded so quickly only intensified his pride. While excitement should have been the last reaction to have in his current state, he couldn’t help the slight increase in heart rate.

 

Only in trying to push himself up did he realize that he was not situated in a bed, but rather a shallow tub filled to the brim with ice. It was only after  _ that _ realization that he discovered himself to be completely nude, his shame covered only by overlapping layers of ice.  **_That explains the burn,_ ** he thought to himself, awkwardly trying to shift his arm out from under the heavy blanket. 

 

“H-Hey now, sir,” the medic intervened, reaching over and gently placing a hand on his shoulder to still him. “I wouldn’t move around too much right now. You’re still recovering.” Despite his aching desire to remove himself from this frozen burn, Thrawn complied, allowing his arm to sink back into the tub and his eyes to drift expectantly over to his dear friend.

 

“...Commander Vanto,” he mused, displeased at how raw his voice sounded. “It’s a pleasure. What brings you back here? Surely, the Ascendancy is keeping you busy enough?”

 

At being addressed, Eli perked up, only to press his lips in a thin line and shake his head. “Oh, they’ve been more than accommodating, sir, but I’m not here on their behalf. Not entirely, at least,” he confessed. “You’ve been in a coma for nearly three days.”

 

Thrawn arched a brow. “Have I..? And I don’t suppose that had anything to do with the tampering with my blood that was so unprofessionally overlooked?”

 

Eli, already more than accustomed to Thrawn’s unnatural deductive ability, managed to contain his surprise and nodded. “Yeah, that seems to be it. Based on what I saw when I got here, it really did a number on you.”

 

“If he hadn’t arrived with the donor blood for transfusion, I can’t say what would have become of you, sir,” the medic contributed, struggling to maintain his composure despite his confused curiosity. If Commander Vanto wasn’t questioning Thrawn’s knowledge of his ailment, then he was certainly in no place to do so. 

 

“Then it’s a blessing he came when he did. Tell me, Doctor, was it you who contacted the Ascendancy?” At the affirmation, Thrawn nodded in acknowledgement and offered a thin, weak smile. “Then I am of the utmost gratitude. Thank you. And you, Commander.”

 

“Of course,” Eli replied easily, the smile gracing his face significantly broader than that of his counterpart. His smiles had always been charming, possessing a special way of charming Thrawn through all their years. “I came as soon as I heard. There’s a great deal of people who wanted me to wish you well if you got better, so here’s to that!” he teased gingerly. 

 

Thrawn hummed, crinkles forming by his eyes as his expression relaxed into contented familiarity. “Indeed. “

 

“Speaking of well being,” the medic interjected, running his fingers over the edge of the tub. “I should summon a droid to transfer you into a bed. Commander Vanto and I will step outside to give you the necessary privacy. Commander..?”

 

Eli bit his lip, but nodded nonetheless. “Right. I’ll come by again once you’re ready-- you know, for data-collecting purposes,” he offered, lips quirking in a faint smile before he turned to follow the medic out of the room.

 

“One moment, Commander,” Thrawn said, tipping his chin up where raising his hand failed. 

 

Eli stopped in his tracks, and Thrawn couldn’t help but admire the poise with which he held himself-- reminiscent of the propriety enforced by the Ascendancy. His brow quirked inquisitively. “Yes?”

 

“The blood you brought me,” Thrawn began, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the numbing ice. While he’d always harbored an innate fondness for the cold, this truncation of nerves and feeling had become rather unpleasant. “Did it, by chance, belong to an Ar’alani?”

 

Eli blinked. “Actually, yeah. I think it did. How did you know?”

 

Thrawn let his head rest back against the brim of the tub, a slow, shallow sigh passing his lips. It all made sense in some twisted fashion-- it couldn’t have been anyone’s but Ar’alani’s. No other chiss would have been nearly as compatible, save for his own brother, and even he lacked fit in the ambition of the soul. He’d seen her as he viewed his own icy demise, and she seemed to  _ know _ what plagued him better than he did. In a way, it was touching to have a connection to his heritage alongside the likeness of his late brother. The blood of one of his few true allies, who’d always been privy to his plans despite moral disagreements, acting as the salvation coursing through his veins. How fitting…

 

A slow smile stretched across his lips as he sunk deeper into the tub, red eyes sliding shut. 

 

_ “....Lucky guess _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Make a request: https://jumpingjaxx13.tumblr.com/post/159472197834/prompt-me-baby-star-wars-edition  
> Leave a tip of appreciation: https://www.paypal.me/twixqueen


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